


And The World Turns Away (unOrdinary Oneshots)

by felicitously



Category: unOrdinary (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Bad Decisions, Character Study, Drama, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Moral Dilemmas, One Shot Collection, Panic Attacks, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Smut, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25424728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felicitously/pseuds/felicitously
Summary: This is a collection of oneshots about Uru-Chan's "unOrdinary" webcomic, and a lot of them will center around John (because I'm obsessed with him and I need to figure out whether that reflects poorly on my moral constitution lol).I do not own these characters!
Relationships: (unOrdinary)/Reader, Arlo & John Doe (unOrdinary), Arlo & Seraphina (unOrdinary), Arlo/John Doe (unOrdinary), Blyke & Isen & Remi (unOrdinary), Blyke & Isen (unOrdinary), Blyke & Remi (unOrdinary), Blyke/Remi (unOrdinary), Cecile & John Doe (unOrdinary), John Doe & Claire (unOrdinary), John Doe & Seraphina (unOrdinary), John Doe/Seraphina (unOrdinary), John/Therapy
Comments: 12
Kudos: 130





	1. Bewilderment (John x Arlo)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time on AO3, sorry if there are any mistakes or weird formatting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe we are all monsters, in our own right. Maybe that's what makes us human.
> 
> 6/15/19

Arlo is done.

Rather, he isn't done. He is further from being finished with anything than he has ever been, and he just can't bring himself to do anything about it. Every move he makes is both a step towards and a step away from what he really wants, and he is done.

In these moments of weakness, he hides from his pride - from himself - like a child. Giddy, reckless, and so convinced that he's doing the right thing. Yes, he's an animal drowning in formaldehyde, frozen in time and trying to rot. He's afraid. And the fear clamps down on him like the hand of god, the hands of his peers, driving him to move, to stop, to do something.

And yet, here he is: shaking in his perfectly ironed Wellston Private Academy uniform, looking up at the man he knows is somehow both more and less of a king than he ever has been, ever will become. Still, he doesn't surrender.

He looks into John's honey eyes, dripping with a sickly sweetness that lets everyone know it's poison. He can't help but want a taste.

It becomes a standoff between two kings. The school crowds around them, but Arlo can only see John. He strikes first, activating his barrier immediately in a frenzy of anger, an "all-or-nothing" final attempt at the throne.

And he knows he will lose.

He has known from the moment John revealed his ability.

Quickly, almost easily, John breaks through. John breaks Arlo's barrier, breaks Arlo's arms, breaks Arlo--and the fight is over. There, lying helpless on the gravel, looking up at the students, the kingdom he built, Arlo feels like a cripple. As realization hits, bile bubbles up in his throat; he tastes copper in his mouth and he swallows it. He chokes down his pain and his ego and everything else––

"I'm sorry."

Whether he's saying it to John or the students, he doesn't know, but he means it.

-

Quickly, the public's idea of him wanes and it's killing him. He reaches out, holds his perfection tightly in place, holds it like it's tangible, only... it isn't. He's grasping it--steadfast, firm, and so afraid to let go, so afraid to admit that it just isn't working. Desperate, panting, his grip loosens. He laughs, unsure of who he is or what he is or if he is worth anything at all at this point, but he laughs. Unsteadily at first, and then, the chuckles start flowing like a river held back for centuries. He's free, in a weird way, and he doesn't know what to think.

Joker is ruling the school, still masked and as unknown as could be but all Arlo wants to do is nothing. He finds John.

"What the hell are you looking at?"

John's tone is feral, beast-like. Every word was accompanied by a low growl that Arlo felt reverberate deep inside of him. He ignores John's question, taking in the black-haired man with a level of intrigue even he didn't expect of himself. Looking at John, he doesn't see a disruption in hierarchy anymore, he doesn't see a cripple, a monster. And, oddly enough, he doesn't see Joker.

As John stalks towards Arlo, grabbing his collar and pinning him to a nearby wall, Arlo doesn't speak, doesn't flinch.

Weirdly, he wants this, wants John's touch, however rough it may be. He doesn't understand it, and that surprises him, although he doesn't seem to be understanding anything recently. Looking into John's eyes, Arlo forgets everything he has forced himself to believe and time seems to run muddy, slow and sweet like molasses.

John drops him, thrown off by his silence, and walks away.

"Wait!" Arlo says, the word coming out of his mouth before he has the chance to think of it. "I'm sorry. I know I've said this already, but I am. I... The king before me was Remi's brother, Rei. He tried to put everyone on equal ground, regardless of power level, and it backfired. He was a great man, but it was too soon. The school wasn't ready--society wasn't ready... When Seraphina left the hierarchy, I was so scared that what I had worked for would be destroyed that I panicked. I was so focused on bringing her back that I didn't realize what I was doing to you. I just... it wasn't smart of me, and it wasn't a good reason to try to bring you back. Please."

"You want nothing to do with me. Don't try to come back now just because I'm king." John says, voice cold as ice.

Arlo laughs, despite himself. He thought he wanted nothing to do with John, but really, he does. Ego aside, hierarchy aside, everything aside, Arlo wants everything to do with John, not that he knows why.

But John would never believe him.

In that moment, Arlo was not Arlo, not King, not ex-King, not Jack, not anything. Arlo was a teenage boy brimming with curiosity and urges out of his control, so he did what seemed rational to him, and only him. A second of silence goes by.

Milliseconds, and suddenly, Arlo's lips collide with John's, interlocking with a passion. His arms snake around John's neck, pulling him closer--and it was over.

Arlo ran.

The regret surged like a raging hurricane. Arlo never considered being "gay" or "bisexual" or "pansexual." In fact, he almost never thought of these things, so he didn't think to make sure John had interest in men. It was primal, almost. Instinctive. Arlo saw what he wanted and he took it, simple as that, and that was when he realized that he had not changed. He did exactly what caused John to become Joker again.

-

But John didn't seem to mind. The next week, at approximately 2:38AM on a Wednesday, John came to Arlo's dorm. With flowers.

"I don't fucking know what I'm doing, and don't pretend that you know either." John quietly says before kissing Arlo on the cheek and calmly returning to his own dorm.


	2. In Which You Are a Lie (John x Seraphina Angst)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is society's fault.
> 
> And John realizes that that's not a excuse for anything.
> 
> 12/21/19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SELF HARM AND SUICIDE WARNING! Please do not proceed if you are strongly influenced by mentions of self-destructive behavior, suicidal thoughts and attempts, and self harm. Thank you!

"John is Joker."

Seraphina sighs. 2:23AM. 2:24AM. 2:25AM. Every minute is a painful reminder of her ability loss, her weakness.

She doesn't know what to think. He was her inspiration, a reminder that there is still good left in the world. He was that goodness. Now, she isn't so sure.

It's can't be true.

It's not true. He would never do that; he would never lie to you; he's your best friend; just trust him, just trust...

Who can she trust now?

Of course, she isn't stupid. She had her suspicions (and each and every one of them have been confirmed), but... She sighs again. And she knows. Despite her denial, despite every cell in her body screaming at her that Arlo is wrong--that John would never do this--she knows it's true.

And she could hate him.

She could choose to despise every fiber of his being, but she can't at the same time. Not really. She doesn't want to. Her time as a cripple has taught her how unfair the world is and she doesn't care if everything about John was a lie. He helped her, cared for her while enduring pain no human being should have to suffer through.

He wasn't forced to be powerless, he chose to be. That has to be worth something. And what right does she have to judge him? To deem him as weak, unworthy of respect, just because he lied to her? He has to have a reason. He has to.

-

The next morning, Seraphina wakes up early despite her fatigue and waits for John outside the Boys' Dorm.

"Sera!" He calls as he comes out. 

His smile falters a bit as he gets closer. "You look tired. Are you okay?"

"Are you?" she replies.

When John doesn't answer, looking confused, Seraphina speaks again. "We're skipping school today. We really need to talk."

-

Seraphina doesn't really know how to start this conversation, and she really can't wrap her head around the situation, either, so she does it in the only way she knows how.

"Sera? What did--"

"I... I know you're Joker."

-

John's heart drops.

A million thoughts race through his head. He wants to deny it. The words, "No, you're wrong," the words "Arlo is lying," the words, "Yes, I am," threaten to spill out, lying at the tip of his tongue...

John bites them back, bites his tongue as he has done too many times before. He tastes dread. He tastes too-much-to-handle, tastes weakness in his mouth and it brings him back to the first time he bit his tongue. Chomping down on the last sandwich his mother ever made for him, he bites his tongue. It bleeds as she walks out the door, unaware and unbothered. It bleeds for longer than it should. He should have screamed. He should have done something.

It's bleeding again, but this time, John welcomes it.

He says nothing.

-

Suddenly, he feels pain everywhere, sees a girl staring down at him, smiling.

"Let me help you," she says. "Hi. I'm Claire," she says. Her face is bright, shining, but in John's dark world, even a dying firefly would seem like the sun. Claire became his sun.

The memories flood in.

He and Claire, training together. Dethroning the King. The whispers. Adrion. The feeling of standing above everyone and feeling like he has hit rock bottom. Everyone against him. The whispers. The feeling of losing control little by little and not being able to do anything. The whispers. The note. The blood on his hands.

"Go ahead. Beat me up like you do with everyone else."

Her sharp cheekbone crunching beneath his fist. The pained groans of his classmates echoing like an orchestra passing through a meat grinder.

"Monster."

They asked for it, didn't they? A king must always be in control of his subjects, and the subjects should always follow the king. It's always been that way.

"Monster."

Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. If he says the word enough, maybe it'll lose it's meaning. Monster. Monster. Monster. He blinks, blinks again, but the image of Claire falling doesn't leave his mind--"it's not real," he says to himself. It's not real, it's not real, it's not real.

"Monster."

His head is pounding. He can't breathe and he wouldn't dare open his eyes. Suffocating, drowning, "it's not real," he tells himself, over and over and over and over--

And the voices stop. His head clears. Finally, he opens his eyes.

He sees Claire. She's smiling, but it's a bone-chilling, horrifying smile. It haunts him, reminds him of everything he's done and everything he should never have done and he's scared. He's more scared than he has ever been in his life because she... she's here, and tangible, and leaning down to hug him--and just like that, his lungs close up and it's real. It's so real to John that he can't bear to close his eyes--Claire--she's--how?

"Don't fucking touch me!"

He feels her face against his fist, feels soft hair and soft cheeks, and he closes his eyes.

He opens his eyes.

And Seraphina, his beautiful Sera, is on the floor, cheek bruised. She looks terrified.

-

John doesn't know why he did it. There's no reason for Claire to be at Wellston. There isn't any fucking reason, but he thought... he thought...

Sitting on the floor of his bedroom, hyperventilating, shaking--this is the merciless Joker? The Shadow King? Disgusting.

If only he had more control over himself. If he had been able to be a decent human being, Claire wouldn't have betrayed him. If only... if only Claire didn't betray him. He wouldn't be in this situation, even if he deserves to be. Maybe, if Claire had taken a different approach... if she wasn't such a fucking idiot... if everyone had just listened to John in the first place, like they should have, none of this would have happened!

That's right, he tells himself. It's their fault.

It always is.

And he knows this isn't true. But in his moments of weakness, the notion that "nothing is ever his own fault" has always provided the fleeting release he needed to burrow himself deeper into his tyranny.

Today, it doesn't work. His breathing is constrained, he's painfully aware of every little thing he's ever done wrong to anyone and today, he hurt his best friend for no reason. It's his fault. Everything was his own fault and he just feels so out of control.

He just wants a break.

-

Blood trickles down his arm and the pain gives him release from himself. He feels steady for the first time in a long time, and so he continues. He's defeating the monster, he thinks. It's what's best for everyone.

He welcomes the pain.

The sound of water on porcelain fills his ears, soothing his pounding skull. Here, he knows what he's doing. Here, he's in control of his subjects, of his thoughts, of his mind.

The liquid sloshes as he gets in, slowly and carefully. He stares into the clear water, and everything comes back to him again. Claire. Seraphina. His memories shift between the two so quickly and so easily that he forgets them both because here--

It's safer here, he thinks. It's safer here, drowning.

He's so happy.

-

To say that Seraphina was worried would be an understatement. She heard him repeating, "it's not real" to himself and she knows that whoever slapped him wasn't John, she knows something's wrong--crash.

The wood of John's dorm splinters as Seraphina breaks through it.

Her hammer is weighted in her hands as she grips it tightly. Slowly, she steps towards John's bedroom.

Crash.

-

It's impossible to hear underwater.

John's throat constricts, wrapping tightly around whatever air his lungs are desperately trying to save. Each gasp for breath his body tried to take was to no avail. He's breaking himself slowly, from the inside, and now, finally, he feels free.

But it hurts.

Holy shit, it hurts so bad and John... John has always been weak.

-

He rises.

The cool water drips off his tense muscles and he takes in breath after breath and he's so weak that he has the nerve to want someone to help him because he can't breathe. He can't.

When Seraphina bursts in, sobbing, John still can't breathe.

When Seraphina hugs him, bandages his wrists, places her delicate hands on his chest, John still can't breathe.

His tongue is raw and bleeding from choking back the truth and the blood coats his throat, coats his lungs with a bitter film. But he swallows the pain.

He has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow the beginning of this chapter was a train wreck. Sorry this wasn't very romantic. 
> 
> I was really trying to avoid being like:
> 
> "John: Hi Sera, what's up?  
> Seraphina: You're Joker.  
> John: *becomes incredibly depressed immediately,*"
> 
> But I made it sound like that anyways lol. Thanks for reading.


	3. And Perhaps There Was No Other Way (John x Reader Angst)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John lets go and you hold on.
> 
> Both of you are left with nothing, and maybe it was meant to be that way all along.
> 
> 5/27/20

There is a butterfly in your heart, fluttering inside four walls and a pulsing vein. You can feel its golden silk wings knocking, knocking, as if it was waiting for a door to open, reminding you that it's still there. You don't think there is a door. If there is, it hasn't opened in centuries.

And you haven't either.

-

But his palms feel like hot coals as they slide down your body––rough and scorching and limitless. A forest fire, he charges forward in every direction and there is always a thick trail of ashes behind him. You cannot escape, and you cannot want to.

This is the man of your dreams. He is stunning; when he calms, he is but a tepid ember sparking within the wood chips of a campfire, the shred of light you cling on to until the sun rises from its bed again.

Sometimes, you dread the daylight. You could spend years lost in his tremulous warmth, when all he is is comfort and safety. And you don't mind that he can't give you a lot. No, you understand. He is a man of darkness, though he often is your only source of light, and he cannot bring himself to whisper radiance into your shaking hands without toting destruction along the way. This is, as you've told yourself, a defense mechanism. He is, as you are sure, defending himself.

But his grip on your thighs is hard and tight enough to bruise, and you find yourself wondering why you expect the pain. You look into his eyes and they are empty. His gaze is cold and his movements are so robotic that they seem rehearsed, but you still melt like a softened candle with every heated breath.

His hips slam against yours with practiced speed; his face is blank but you are falling apart; each thrust, each pant that exits his wet, parted lips leaves you gasping for air, begging for more––

He pulls out without warning. He leaves the room. He leaves you, alone, back pressed against the wall as if he was still holding you there. The ghost of his fingertips still linger on your skin, and you are sobbing before you realize he's gone.

-

He's gone.

You never saw him the way the others did. You couldn't ignore everything he'd been through––you would never understand the power, but you understood the fear. It bubbled up inside you, as raging and palpable as John himself. You know more than anyone that he is terrified of his own destructiveness. He would stop at nothing to smother his own flames, and, in doing so, he ripped the light from your heart and put it out just as readily.

This is the boy of your reality. This is the black hole who you wake up to every morning, the lingering wisps of smoke from the fires that were set and rained out years before still managing to burn your lungs. The flames are––and they always will be––a part of him, but the embers in his eyes and heat in his palms will never spark again, and you were a fool to believe otherwise. The universe has never been kind to the boys who could set the world on fire, so the universe tore him apart, piece by piece, while you watched helplessly from beside him.

And this is the boy who lost so much that he threw himself away along with everything else. And you've always known he would find a way out––out of what? You didn't know, you still don't, but John has always been good at escaping. During the 3AM nights when all he had was you and his body (not his mind, never his mind), you saw it in him. You knew he was finding a way out of everything his past laid upon him. Now that you think about it, maybe he was just running away. John has always been good at escaping.

You just never thought he'd leave you behind.

-

Oh, what a shame. What a shameful, shameful shame. The butterfly has been released from its cage. The boy burned its home down when he fell from a skyscraper. He lit his last fire on the pavement when his skull split in two. The girl with the heart is gone, gone, gone. The fire on the pavement died down as fast as it started.

And the butterfly has been released from its cage.

It has forgotten how to fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I actually wrote the previous two chapters almost a year ago, but wrote this chapter only about a month ago, so that's why the writing style is different here. 
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter (despite its extremely short length), thank you for reading!


	4. Everything We Are (Arlo x John Smut)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And maybe, together, we can be more.
> 
> 12/21/19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for mild implications of internalized homophobia!

It was supposed to be easy.

It was supposed to be the easiest thing John has ever done--destroy everything and everyone like the monster that he is, just as he always does. All he had to do was step up as Joker, take the throne like the war cry for change that he was supposed to represent. He was supposed to be a weapon, a double edged sword leaving the world painted red--he was supposed to be merciless, so why...?

Why the hell is he here?

-

When Arlo and John see each other in the halls, it's always a battle. A bloodbath of restraint and hunger too strong to be subdued. It's a fight between the apex, the top of the top--two barely caged beasts aching for power, aching for release.

And John tries to pretend.

John tries to seem like the distance isn't killing him, tearing him apart as he did to so many of his enemies. All he wants to do is close the gap, fill his lungs with Arlo's breath and exhale domination into the atmosphere.

He can't.

-

When Arlo and John see each other in a deserted alleyway on the edge of Wellston's suburbs, it's something akin to a standoff, a test of willpower that both men know they'll fail.

They try, anyways.

"Why the fuck are you here?" John growls, the vitriol in his voice screaming loud in order to drown out his excitement.

"I can go where I want," the blonde bites back. His glare is harsh, filled with spite and just daring the shorter boy to attack.

Arlo's jaw clenches against the force of John's fist, the passive form of his ability keeping his skin hard and unbreakable. He uses John's strength against him, pulling the black-haired boy back and slamming him against the cool brick wall. Suddenly, the two are centimeters apart, and John can't help but move closer.

He tastes the faintest flavor of black coffee and mint, and he's so, so screwed.

-

From then on, every encounter with Arlo drove a knife deeper into John's stomach, suffocating him--the only release was when they were alone. When they were alone, they weren't a tyrant and a king, a joker and a prince, two monsters tearing each other down--no. They were one entity, different and so much better than everything they once believed they were.

John could breathe when they were alone, simply because Arlo could.

And it made no fucking sense.

-

So, now, here they are, existing together as a shaken up Coke bottle of sexual tension, uncapped and unattended to--and it's a mess. As soon as they enter Arlo's dorm, their clothes are cast aside--everything is placed out in the open and both boys enter a trance.

John is enticed by the blonde boy, completely enthralled by shifting, lean muscles and perfectly sculpted facial features. Slowly, painfully slowly, Arlo comes closer. He closes the distance between them as he has done so many times before in battle but, this time, it feels like they're being pulled together.

Large, calloused hands caress John's sharp jawline before soft lips follow, and it's ecstasy. John quickly captures Arlo's mouth, pressing their lips together in a sweet kiss. It doesn't last for long, because John is aggressive by nature, and soon, he roughly ravages Arlo's mouth with his tongue, exploring every crevice and moaning at the bittersweet taste of mint and coffee.

Similarly to their standoffs, this is ultimately a duel for control, so Arlo turns John around and slams him into the wall, roommates be damned. Despite the media depicting sex as something to be slowly savored, Arlo's throbbing penis doesn't know how to wait, so he immediately slides into John, filling him to the brim.

It hurts John, but not enough.

It's so wrong for him to do this, so unnatural and yet, he can't stop. He can't do anything but scream for Arlo to fuck him harder, faster--

-

It's a strange sight: two "straight" men having intercourse.

Arlo and John collapse on the bed after John is filled with milky liquid and the wall is splattered with white. They stay there, limbs tangled together, all the way past the sunset and into the night.

John isn't sure why they don't move. Perhaps, they really do enjoy each other's presence so much. And, perhaps, they're also scared. Perhaps, they're terrified of what they just did, terrified of themselves and what they've become...

"What am I?" John quietly asks, breaking the silence with his unsure tone.

He's scared, Arlo thinks.

They both are.

"What are we?" John asks again, when Arlo doesn't reply. The fear in his voice intensifies, and, just for a moment, both boys regret what they've done.

Then again, neither of them are strangers to fearing themselves. Both incredibly strong, both incredibly truculent--if either of them are monsters, they're human as well, in their own right.

"A lot of things, John. We're a lot of things."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the actual smut part was so short. I'm really bad at describing sex lol


	5. The Monsters Know My Name, But I Don't (John x Therapy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes to therapy and talks to himself.
> 
> 7/20/20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not the best at writing dialogue, and this entire chapter is 4600 words of John monologueing into his phone, so, sorry if it's really unrealistic and weird. I kind of tried to make it awkward and uncomfortable, since John is talking about things he really does not want to talk about, but I don't know if I made it too awkward to the point where it's just not good to read lol.
> 
> uGH I wish I could act out this entire thing so you guys can kind of see how I imagined John saying this (and how many pauses he takes), but I can't attach an audio file onto here (also I am female so it wouldn't really be the *full* experience)

**John's Voice Memo to John: Take 1**

Um, to: John.

Hi, John.

 _God this is stupid_. 

Dr. Laurie, my therapist (because I have one of those now), wants me to record a voice letter to you because she says it'll help me "process my emotions" or something. I, personally, think my emotions are very well processed, thank you very much. But I'm not the licensed psychologist, so what I think doesn't matter.

_And it never has._

But anyways, hi John. It's me. John.

Uh, I guess I'm just going to talk about my feelings into the speaker of my extremely cracked, used iPhone 8. Enjoy the amazing sound quality.

Ahem. I prepared a script, by the way. I haven't been following it so far, but yeah. I'm going to start now. Starting now. Yeah.

Hi, John.

Wait, I said that already. _What was the point of this script if I didn't even follow it? Should I just start over? Okay, I'll loosely follow the script._

**John's Voice Memo to John: Take 2**

Hi John. This is John.

_Shit I'm saying John too much and it's making me think of a toilet._

**John's Voice Memo to John: Take 3  
**

Hi John. It's you, from the past. WoooOOOOooooo spooky. _  
_

_This is stupid._

**John's Voice Memo to John: Take 4**

_I am stupid._

Um... Fuck, I'm not good at this kind of thing. Like, talking and stuff. I can get people to believe me when I'm saying things that aren't true, but this... Nothing ever comes out right. It's like the words have to go through a strainer before they come out of my mouth and all the _real_ always gets sifted out before I can say it, you know? Well, I guess you know because you're like, me.

Honestly, I really hope you're not like me. It would be cool if you just... weren't me, somehow. Like someday in the next ten years they figure out how to suck all the bad out of a person and just leave them with everything else. Except I don't think there is anything else in me.

Do you?

I don't know, I guess it's a weird thought.

So, how are you doing these days? Being 28 comes with a lot of responsibilities. Have you beaten your responsibilities to the ground and left them to bleed out while you go and fuck around with shit you don't care about just so you can "not care" for once in your life? And has it worked?

Sorry, maybe that was mean. Maybe I'm just bitter because it never works for me and I still keep doing it. Yay, Einstein's definition of insanity.

_Why do I keep doing this?_

Ugh, what am I even saying? I'm not really doing much these days. I came back to New Bostin for the summer and I'm trying this thing called therapy. It's not going well, but Dr. Laurie is nice, I guess. I'm working out a lot, and I'm training my ability. I'm going to be a senior in high school next year.

Don't worry, I'm not going to be king.

Ahem... sorry, I'm getting off topic. I'm supposed to be talking about all the shit that's happened in my life and how I feel about it. 

Um, shit happened. I got beat up. I beat up other people. I went to summer camp with the authorities. I got beat up again. I beat up some more people. It's a cycle and I feel shitty.

The End.

**John's Voice Memo to John: Take 5  
**

I don't know how to do this.

I don't want to talk about this. I already lived through it once, I can't––

_Bro what the fuck was that voice crack?_

**John's Voice Memo to John: Take 6  
**

John, do you remember this person? His name is Joker. He's... a king. And he's not a good person but I keep trying to prove that he is, for some reason.

He's not.

And... and I don't know if he'll ever be a good person.

Do you?

I don't know, he does this thing where he tries to make himself feel better by using the whole "everything is society's fault" thing to justify him running away from facing who he is. But I think he knows, deep down, that his behavior is only the product of his failure to control himself. And I think he should know that he's... he's a failure, I guess.

**John's Voice Memo to John: Take 7  
**

Okay, I keep messing up and staring into the distance like some sort of deeply wounded K-drama character and it's really fucking annoying, so I should stop doing that. I am not deeply wounded, by the way. That was a joke.

Um, anyways, there's this guy named Joker. He's a big bad boy. _Oh, ugh, gross I hate that._

**John's Voice Memo to John: Take 8**

Once upon a time, there was an evil king named Joker. He's really powerful, but he's also a weak coward who doesn't do anything right.

When he was born, he was... abnormal. Well, he was more normal than he is now, but what I mean is, he didn't have an ability. But it was okay, because his dad didn't either, and his dad is a great person.

Life was tough, of course, but it wasn't terrible. Joker would work out and spar with his dad all the time, and he was home-schooled online. New Bostin Virtual School, or "nubvus," as he (and no one else) called it, was informative and pretty self explanatory, and since his dad is a writer, Joker was pretty good in writing and speech.

But Joker, ever the dramatic piece of shit, was exhausted from his monotonous everyday routine. He longed for the excitement of human interaction, and he felt, like, angry and trapped in himself. It just so happened that Joker's dad's writing career was taking off at this time, so his dad couldn't spend as much time at home. Joker managed to convince his dad to let him go to a real-life, in-person middle school.

Cue horror movie music.

Now, Joker had been getting beaten up around once every few months, just on street corners and sometimes when he went shopping late at night. As a cripple in modern society, it was inevitable, but he and his father were doing well.

It was different at school.

Second semester of 7th grade is the middle of the middle grade of middle school, and everyone at New Bostin Middle School already knew each other. Joker basically lowered himself, unarmed and unguarded, into a shark tank during feeding time. _Told you he doesn't do anything right_.

Every day was, quite literally, a battle for survival. He remembers one time during lunch, an upperclassman poured a carton of cold chocolate milk down his pants, slammed him onto the ground...

The chair was blue, with strong metal legs that bent as they crashed into his skull. Joker remembers, it was winter; he was cold, and the boy with the strength ability was warm, and the blood gushing out of his skull was warm, and _was it wrong for him to have wanted that warmth when he couldn't get it anywhere else? He had no friends; how can a kid not have any friends––?  
_

God, there was so much blood that day. It was coming out of his eyes, he remembers. He thought it was just his head, but his left eye was _bleeding_. They wouldn't take him to a hospital. He remembers the nurse pouring liquid down his throat, scolding him, blaming him––

It wasn't his fault. He couldn't defend himself, so it wasn't his fault; he just wanted a friend. That's all he ever fucking wanted.

 _And when he got it, he fucked that up too_.

The first time he made a friend was at the beginning of 8th grade. The bruises were everywhere–– _everywhere_ ––but nothing was broken, so Joker was thankful. It was then when a hand reached out to him for the first time.

_"Let me help you," she said._

Her hair was green. Eyes were red. She looked like Christmas, like shelter from the cold and bright lights and warm welcomes. The world stopped when Joker looked at her, and that's all he ever wanted.

Her ability was... foresight, I think, and she had a vision of Joker using an ability. God, that fucking vision destroyed everything. They spent all of 8th and 9th grade mastering that godforsaken ability. Joker was just so angry, and he kept getting more and more terrible.

10th grade was when he became King. 

10th grade was when his world fell apart around him before it was ever built up in the first place.

10th grade was when he destroyed everything and everyone around him before he ever got to enjoy anything.

He can still hear them screaming, screaming at him to stop. He still wonders why he didn't stop, why he never stopped, _why no one ever stopped until even his fucking eyes were bleeding_. And he still carries the crunch of their bones under his fists; the weight of the blood on his hands keeps him grounded _to this day_ ––

_Fuck._

**John's Voice Memo to John: Take 9**

He felt like a monster.

When the authorities took Joker into custody, they treated him like a monster–– _what choice did he have but to become one?_

Keon's hands were large and cold. He could grab Joker's 16-year-old head with one tight fist and beat him with the other. Joker lost count of the days in that dark box. He lost track of everything but the pain.

 _And he was in so much pain_ ––

God, you wouldn't understand, he––Keon––held me by the head and just slammed me into the metal table _over and over and over and over_ ––

**John's Voice Memo to John: Take 10  
**

But the handcuffs were nothing. _Keon_ was nothing. He couldn't hold me down. No one could hold me down; not Claire, not Keon, not Arlo, not Seraphina.

No one is smarter than me, no one is stronger than me. No one can beat me anymore.

 _Oh shit I did it again._ Sorry that got so intense. I really need to stop glaring into the abyss so often. The abyss has been glaring back, haha. Ha.

**John's Voice Memo to John: Take 11**

Nietzsche said that fighting monsters turns you into a monster. I wonder how many people I've made into monsters...

_More than I can count._

**John's Voice Memo to John: Take 12**

Ugh, I said I was going to stop doing this.

Okay! Where was I? The authorities took Joker into the Readjustment Facility, beat him around, forced him to relive his darkest moments every day for months...

When he got out of that place, he was definitely different. And the world around him was different, too. It was dark; everything was dark and cold and difficult. It felt like... like the world was spinning too fast and it was leaving him behind.

And he didn't care.

Because caring was too much work. So was breathing; so was not breathing. He felt like this was all he was, and it was all he could ever be. Either a monster or a living corpse. The world was running away from him and all he could do was sit and stagnate.

He couldn't do anything. And I know it sounds like it's not a big deal––it sounds really stupid, saying it out loud––but he couldn't _do_ anything and he hated himself for that.

It was like, "Wow, I am such a terrible person."

And, "Okay, well, that means you have to be a better person."

But, "I don't deserve better and neither does the world."

So, "Okay, then don't be better."

But, "God that's such a shitty thing to do, I'm such a terrible person and I hate myself and everyone else should hate me too."

And then, Joker just laid in bed for weeks on end. He didn't eat or sleep or shower. He didn't do anything.

He should have made an effort, though. His poor, loving father had to deal with his bullshit for long enough for him to write an entire book to try to help Joker. The book worked, actually. It got him off his ass, made him realize that he shouldn't drag other people down with his own flaming garbage pile of a life.

Joker decided that if he couldn't become a better person, he would become a different person, so he started hanging out with his dad again. His life went back to normal, and he started catching up on what he missed in school.

When spring came, he was ready to re-enroll. He decided to go to Wellston Private Highschool. He... he wanted to get as far away as possible. He didn't really plan on pretending to be a cripple, but when he landed in the Wellston area, drove past the school, and put on his dad's hair gel, he felt like he had to. Like it was some sort of sad boy quest for redemption in a sappy coming-of-age novel, or something.

_Ew, okay, I'm done with this now._

**John's Voice Memo to John: Take 13**

Okay, Wellston was great at the beginning. I transferred as a 10th grader and asked the headmaster to treat me like a cripple, so I got beat up a lot still, but it was kind of okay because I kind of deserved it. But it got really fun when I made friends with Seraphina. Then, in 11th grade I lent her unOrdinary, the book my dad wrote, and she got suspended because the book is illegal.

Anyways, shit got bad without Seraphina. At the beginning of the year, before I knew her, it was okay because no one really cared about me. But when she was suspended, everyone hated me because I was a cripple––a "cripple"––who was friends with the Ace, so the beatings I took were way worse.

Yeah, so then, Arlo came along and fought me, and I beat him. One thing led to another; I became Joker; I un-became Joker; the school year ended. Now I'm here. Back in New Bostin. Therapy.

Shit, this made no sense. _What is wrong with me?_

**John's Voice Memo to John: Take 14**

Joker transferred to Wellston for the second semester of 10th grade. _Is this, like, a thing that I have to do?_

When people found out he was a cripple, he did get beat up, but it was okay. He deserved it. But soon, he met the Queen, Seraphina, and they became best friends. The rest of 10th grade went smoothly, but the next year, Joker lent Seraphina _unOrdinary_ , his dad's book (which also happens to be illegal), and she was suspended.

She left it on her bed, so Elaine found it, and Arlo told Elaine to tattle, so she did. Seraphina got suspended.

Cue horror movie music part 2.

Joker was beaten up constantly from this point on. At first, he was still in communication with Seraphina, but then Arlo got two people to break Joker's phone, and soon after, Seraphina's mom cut off her internet. Joker was angry again. Every day, all he did was go to school, get the shit beat out of him, and come home. He hated everything. He hated _everything_ , and everything hurt. He didn't feel like moving. He didn't feel like doing anything, and he was mad at everything, and that scared him because he knew he was reverting back to who he once was.

And he felt like he couldn't care anymore.

There were four of them, coming at Joker all at once. They slammed him down into the dirt, and their hands felt too much like Keon's, too much like his own, and he hated them. He almost broke, right then and there. He almost destroyed them, but he didn't.

So they destroyed him.

Arlo was the one who took Joker to the infirmary and stopped Tanner from doing too much damage. And, somehow, Joker trusted Arlo, only to find out in a deserted field that he was planning Joker's beat-down for an entire month.

Arlo took Joker to the Turf Wars location, and ambushed him with two of his goons.

Joker destroyed them.

Joker destroyed himself.

And then he walked home. And Seraphina was waiting at his doorstep, and when she looked at him, she destroyed him all over again because this... _this was not who he was_ and he needed her to know that. So, he lied to her. Again. And she stayed at his house, and his dad came and almost blew his lie to pieces, but then he lied to her again. And he dug his own grave a little deeper.

A few days before she went back to school, though, Seraphina was attacked and lost her ability. It was... it was my fault. I left her alone, and then, when I found her...

When I found her, she was bleeding out on my living room floor, a stab wound on her side. I hated that I couldn't do anything to help her. I hated that I needed Elaine, that I needed Arlo.

That night, they came back for her. And I still couldn't do anything. We didn't get a single one of them. They all got away, and Seraphina _lost her ability_.

You don't know how scared I was. _I_ don't even know how scared I was.

It felt like the universe was actively working against me. I knew what Seraphina was going to go through, and I was worried... that she'd end up like me.

I don't know, it's weird. Her situation was literally the opposite of mine, and she's so much stronger than me. I just didn't want to see her in pain.

But anyways, after that whole shenanigan happened, Joker was called to the headmaster's office, and he was forced to move to the dorms. Zeke welcomed him with a fist to the face and a shit ton of arrogance.

And... Joker saw too much of himself in Zeke.

Power-hungry, narcissistic fucks like him don't belong in the world. He was worthless. He was nothing and that's all he would ever be. He could beat up as many people as there are people in this world, but it won't make him anything worth mentioning. He was a horrible person. He is a horrible person.

And when Zeke tried to lay his hands on Seraphina, all Joker could see was himself.

His fist colliding with Claire's cheek.

Her skull smashing on the pavement.

_"Monster," she said.  
_

I can't even describe how his chest felt in that moment. He wanted to kill Zeke so bad, and I think that desire was the only thing stopping him from protecting Seraphina. It was like, if he activated his ability, there would be no going back. He was absolutely sure that he would murder Zeke if he gave himself the chance, and he had never been more terrified of himself.

He had never hated himself so much.

He had the power to protect Seraphina and he didn't use it. He had the power to protect Claire and he hurt her with it. And he had the fucking _audacity_ to throw the blame onto Zeke, when he knew damn well that he's the one who deserves to get hurt.

But it felt strangely good, in a disgusting way. Joker felt like he was doing something, beating Zeke to a pulp. He felt... like he was beating himself, defeating the monster...

 _Holy shit, what is this therapy? What the fuck am I even saying? It felt_ good _to hurt someone? God I'm a fucking psychopath––_

**John's Voice Memo to John: Take 15**

Okay, so that was Joker's first time as Joker. He put Zeke's used lunch bag over his head and beat him to a pulp. Then, Seraphina's ability loss was exposed and Joker beat up the bitch who exposed it.

Soon after that, Seraphina was kidnapped by a group of students, and Joker taught them a lesson, too. Isen, Tanner, and a guy who's always on Wellston's roof may have gotten caught in the crossfire, but it's okay because they deserved it.

Joker hated seeing Seraphina suffer, and he hated sitting around and not helping her. So, he started fighting his way up the rankings, before becoming King. At this time, he was anonymous, but Isen exposed him. Fuck Isen.

So, John was King again––I was King again, and I didn't know how to handle it. I didn't want to handle it, and I didn't know or care what I was doing. Seraphina found out that I was Joker, and I didn't really... have anything left to care about, I guess.

Seraphina got Isen to show her my records, and she turned on me, just like everyone else. We were such good friends, but she still took Arlo's words over mine...

Fuck, what were my words worth, anyways? I lied to her so fucking much. It's no wonder she doesn't trust me... I know––I know she didn't betray me. I mean, I know, but I don't know, because betrayal is all I know, I guess.

I don't know, I feel like I was in a trance for the last part of junior year. I was doing things that didn't make sense; declaring people as my enemy when, really, my only enemy was myself. I felt like I was sinking in quicksand, and struggling only made it worse but I had to struggle because I had to do something. It was like I had no control over myself, and I was just acting on my fear–– _fear of what?_

Of becoming myself again?

Of repeating everything and losing myself even more?

I didn't want people to look at me like I was a monster, but they were. And I think I finally realized that I couldn't do anything about their opinions of me, so I was just scrambling to pull myself out of whatever I had fallen into. I was desperate, frantic, and I just wanted to feel good about myself again.

But I couldn't.

I don't think I'm going to be feeling good about myself anytime soon.

Ugh, I told Seraphina she was "just a cripple," and that was... so bad. I don't know why I said it. I don't know if I wanted to say it. And the worst part is, I kept talking more and more, and saying even more shitty things straight to her face. And I'm so scared that I meant it. Did I mean it?

It's funny, I was trying so hard to blame the world around me for everything, but I was the one causing problems in the world all along. Am I a monster who spun everything that fought against me into a monster? Or did fighting a monster make me a monster?

What was I fighting? The authorities? The hierarchy? Myself? I lost to all of them in the end, so what does it matter? Were any of them even worth fighting, or was I just angry and looking for something to hurt?

Fuck, am I insane? I was acting insane, back then. I didn't know what to do, but I just kept doing things, and it was hurting everyone. I think, towards the end, I was hurting people just so someone would _see_ me. Like, really look at me for who––not what––I am, and I wanted them to tell me that I could be better.

I'm not the type of person to ask for help. You know that. People who "help" only do it for themselves, and the person they're helping is always the one who gets hurt. I wasn't acting out for attention, and I wasn't trying to get someone to save me _(from myself)_ or whatever. I knew it wouldn't work.

It's just... I wanted them to see me for who I am, see how fucked up I am, see why I'm so fucked up, and still tell me that I can get better. That I'm not doomed to be this crazy bully guy forever, and that I have an understandable reason to be this crazy bully guy, but I can let go of that reason because it's still not an excuse.

Ugh, I don't know what I'm saying.

**John's Voice Memo to John: Take 16**

Sorry, I went off topic again. I need to answer some questions.

Okay, why did I do the things I did?

_Why does anyone do anything?_

When I thought I was a cripple, I was angry. I was so mad at the world and at myself because I couldn't do anything about it.

When I discovered my ability, I thought beating people would make me proactive; I thought it would release my anger and make the world around me easier to, like, live in.

No, I thought it would make living as myself easier. I thought it would make me like myself more. But it didn't. I hated myself more than ever, and all the anger I didn't even know I had bubbled up to the surface and lit a fire from the blood of my peers. All I could think about was training...

I didn't have anything when I was a cripple. When I discovered my ability, I had something. It might not have been a good thing, but it was something, and I thought it was the best thing the universe would ever give me. I thought it was my ticket to happiness, and if I worked hard enough, I could make myself be happy no matter how much the world hated me.

But it didn't work.

When Keon took me into Readjustment, I was scared of him.

When I came out, I was scared of myself, too.

So, when I went to Wellston, I was a cripple. My power made me dangerous, so I didn't deserve to use it. I didn't want to hurt any more people.

But then, I kind of started remembering why I started hurting people in the first place. They're worthless. They're all just like me, and they all deserve every bit of pain I've inflicted on them. That's why I became Joker. It wasn't because I wanted to protect Seraphina, or because I wanted low-tiers to be treated better.

Everyone was just like me, and I wanted us all to burn.

_Wow. I'm a terrible person._

**John's Voice Memo to John: Take 17**

But I don't know if I really wanted that, though.

Because why did I act so weird after I was publicly announced King? I know my skills, and I know I usually act strategically, but I just wasn't thinking when I was King. It was like... I knew I was going to be a terrible leader, so I kind of self-sabotaged by being super reckless and just... dumb.

I don't know, I think I wanted the Headmaster to stop me.

I was terrified of the authorities, but I also felt like I needed to be punished because of how horrible of a person I am. 

And maybe I did have a little bit of hope. Maybe I kind of thought––just a little bit––that someone would see me, and tell me that it's okay that I'm fucked up.

Maybe the past four-and-a-half years have just been one giant sad boy quest to prove my worth to a world that has never cared about my value in the first place. Maybe "worth" doesn't matter in this world, and we're all just people, so we're all okay, and we're all worth equally little.

_Fuck the hierarchy._

**John's Voice Memo to John: Take 18**

This is going to be a bitch to edit, but I think it therapied me well.

So, bye John. See you in 10 years. I'm not going to have some sort of ending that magically ties everything together because A, I'm not smart enough for that, and B, that's your job. Find me an ending. Tell it to the world. Be better than me.

I'm counting on you––no, wait, you're counting on me. I'll do the best I can. I'm trying my best, and if that's not enough... sorry, you can't have everything, I guess.

Okay.

Okay, bye.

**John's Voice Memo to John: Take 19**

Uhh, from: John.

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know John is nowhere near this self-aware and I should have made him more of an unreliable narrator, but I was trying to use this as like, a character-study, so I could better understand John as a person, so I was making him very open about his problems. It was really fun to write though, like as I was making discoveries and realizing things about why John is the way that he is, he was making them along with me, if that makes sense.
> 
> I hope it's not weird that he switches to talking about himself in third person. I didn't plan on writing it that way, but whenever I wrote John talking about a really traumatic event in first person, it felt really unbelievable. Like, I would never expect him to say it out loud, or even think about it purposefully, so I kept making him start talking about the event, then be like "––fuck, I hate this. *shuts off recording,*" but it wasn't getting anywhere because I didn't know how to make it realistic. But personally, whenever I want to address a difficult thing that's happened to me, I write about it in third person because it's just easier for me to deal with it that way––kind of like, distancing myself from the situation. So, I thought it might work for John too. Please let me know what you think though.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. For Now (John x Seraphina)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The universe took everything away from Seraphina at once. Her world shatters around her, but she refuses to break. 
> 
> It's the only thing she can do.
> 
> 12/22/19

They turned on her.

All of them, they turned on her. They stabbed her in the back and left her at the mercy of beasts. Really, she couldn't complain. She's disgraceful, lowly, disgusting--a fallen angel who no one acknowledged but herself and, really, she's okay with that.

They thought she would lead the future––be the future––and she let them all down. They seethe with fury that isn't theirs to command; it's unfair. She lost her ability, her lifeline, her life, and yet, they don't give a singular fuck about her.

"What--what if this happens to me? What--what will I do? This is her fault--she caused this."

She's tired. Seraphina is exhausted beyond repair and she doesn't give a singular fuck about them.

"This is her fault." She smiles. 

"She is nothing." She smiles.

"Seraphina has fallen." She smiles.

Through the pain, the terror, she smiles because it's all she can do to fight them now. And, really, she's not okay with that. She's just not okay in general.

-

When Seraphina overhears Remi convincing Joker to stop, she notices that he sounds quite a lot like John.

When she watches Arlo apologize to Joker from a nearby window, she notices that Joker looks exactly like John.

And she isn't sure what to think.

-

"Sera!" John calls, seeing the purple-haired girl passing by. "Guess who just got a 957 in Slappy Pig? I'd like to see you try and beat that!"

Seraphina stops, wide-eyed and unprepared for the confrontation about to occur. She hesitates, then speaks with as much confidence as she can muster. "You... you have an ability, don't you? You're Joker."

John stays quiet, shocked, and the silence is enough of an answer for Seraphina, who notices John's sudden shift in mood and tries to lighten things up.

"Wow. I guess you're just everything I'm not, then. Poker master, Slappy Pig master, god-tier... You're a triple threat!" She jokes, hoping to let John know that he can open up to her, although she just can't seem to keep the betrayal from seeping into her words.

John hears it: the sadness, the hurt in Seraphina's voice. To him, it's so clear, and it's so terrifying that he almost bursts into tears right then, right there––

"I... am I a threat?"

He can't keep his voice from cracking, but he can keep his mask intact. His facial features remain stoic and unmoved; expressionless.

And Seraphina is fully aware that John is scared of her answer; she is fully aware that her reply could, quite possibly, shape the fate of their now somewhat tattered friendship, but she's sad and confused and way too tired to pretend right now. She says what she thinks is right for her, and if John can't handle it, it won't be her problem.

"Are you?"

-

The word "yes" almost leaves John's lips, and he has to wrestle it back with all the strength he can muster; replace it with "I would never hurt you" or "of course not" even though he knows all too well that he is, very much, a threat. He doesn't want to lie, but he has to.

He is taking too long to answer.

-

Seraphina doesn't seem to mind waiting.

She takes the silence as comfort; the longer he delays his answer, the longer she can pretend that nothing has changed. Yes, she is still the Ace, she is still invincible to the other students...

She revels in the power, soaks in it, and waits for it to come crashing down on top of her.

John's voice is soft and low when he answers. His eyes are cast down, golden orbs gazing at something much, much further away than Seraphina.

He was going to say no. He really was going to, but when he finally pulled his eyes off the sidewalk and looked at Seraphina, he couldn't lie anymore.

"Maybe."

It came rushing out like a tsunami before he could stop it, and it hung in the tense air like a bomb waiting to drop.

And Seraphina was not okay.

And Seraphina could not bring herself to pretend any more than John could, so she let herself drop her smile for once and fell to the dirt-covered concrete, sobbing.

-

John doesn't know what to do now. He is standing over Seraphina's crumpled form, wanting so badly to help her, to hold her and tell her that he would never hurt her, but he's afraid.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"I'm so sorry, please; please Sera I didn't want––" he has to stop when his voice cracks. He has to pause to bite back the tears aching to pour out; he doesn't deserve to cry and he knows it, so he gags himself with the apologies that linger on his tongue and says nothing.

-

Seraphina knows that she is hurting him; curled up on the hard concrete, sobbing her sorrows away without even letting him explain. She doesn't want him to explain. She doesn't want to process any more information because her brain is about to explode with everything that has happened.

But she doesn't want to hurt John anymore.

And somewhere in her brain, there is a voice that is telling her to drive whatever shard of glass she can find deeper into John's (lying, traitorous, disgusting) wounds in hopes to save her own mental state. And somewhere in her brain, she knows that whatever shard of glass she will be able to find will be a piece of her shattered heart.

She doesn't know what she wants, and she isn't going to pretend that she knows anything anymore.

She stands up.

She rises from her despair, all runny nose and hastily wiped tears, like a phoenix of some sort, ready to burn all that stands in her way... until she sees the honey-yellow flames in John's sad, faraway eyes and gives up all the confidence that she has gathered.

She gives John a chance and hopes to God that he'll take it.

-

He does.

John takes Seraphina's mercy and runs with it, telling her everything about his past and pouring his heart out before he can stop himself.

"Sera, the last two years with you..." he pauses and laughs, bitter and cold. "I still feel like they never happened," he stops again for a while, stares up into the setting sun with longing, not caring that he was probably burning his retinas out because what he was about to say would probably burn his heart out.

"But also, I feel like they were my entire life. Like I'm a whole different person with you and I can finally look at myself in the mirror––I need you to know that I wasn't pretending. Not for all of it. I think you helped me become who I wanted to be––"

"I think you're lying to yourself just as much as you're lying to me." Seraphina's tone is harsh; if John is displaying his feelings to her, the least she can do is be honest with him.

"And you're right. But I'm trying, Sera. I don't want to pretend anymore." He stops. He inhales; exhales. "Seraphina, I like you too much. And I don't deserve your friendship or your presence in my life but I want it way too fucking badly, and I know that I'm probably the last person you want to be with right now, but..."

John doesn't know what to say next.

Seraphina is tired of waiting, of guessing, of pretending. She steps to John, stares into his disarming golden eyes, and presses her lips to his.

-

When Seraphina gets home the next morning, she smiles with genuine joy, heart thumping with residual adrenaline. It echoes in her ears like music, like a steady, grounding rhythm, drowning out the whispers. Her smile grows.

She is okay, she is okay, she is okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I wrote this a while before Seraphina confronted John about Joker in the actual webtoon, so it feels a little bit arbitrary right now. I wrote it more to understand both the Wellston students' reactions and Seraphina's response to her ability loss (like, maybe the fact that Seraphina lost her ability made some of them scared that they would lose their abilities too, so they were acting out because of their fear? And also I wanted to go more into how traumatic the ability loss was for Seraphina), but I still wanted to bring in John and Seraphina's relationship, so it came out kind of weird.
> 
> I hope it wasn't too unrealistic though. I knew John wouldn't take it nearly as well as he did in this even while I was writing it, but I wanted to make it romantic lol. I hope you still enjoyed, and thank you for reading!


End file.
